


Bending 'Til I Break

by Crowgirl



Series: Scars Remind Us [55]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-02
Updated: 2012-12-02
Packaged: 2017-11-20 03:32:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/580843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowgirl/pseuds/Crowgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ongoing discussion, and ramifications thereof, between Dean and Castiel about the after-effects of Hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bending 'Til I Break

VV.

The second demon takes Dean for the best part of three days and he can barely move for two more.

He drifts in and out, vaguely aware of voices talking to him and having to open his eyes for inspection at semi-regular intervals during the first day. He drinks something someone offers him and thinks feverishly that it’s good there’re only three people who’d be offering him anything at this point or he could be in some serious shit. Then he thinks, as he drifts away into some endless dream, that even if he _is_ in serious shit, he can’t bring himself to care all that much.

* * *

He dreams about Meg and wakes up with tears drying on his face and a sore throat.

‘Dean.’ Castiel’s voice is very close.

Dean tries to speak, fails, coughs, tries again. ‘How long...?’

‘Almost a week.’

‘Fuck. Where’re we?’

‘Near the Arizona state line.’

‘We got the second one?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good.’ Dean takes a deep breath and tries to push himself up to sitting, but he can barely lift himself half-way and he feels Castiel’s hand on his shoulder almost immediately. His ears are singing and he feels as if the bed is tilting beneath him; pressing his hands down harder against the lumpy mattress doesn’t help -- that just makes it feel as though the mattress is tilting, too.

‘If you wish to move, let me help you.’

Dean groans and opens his eyes. That’s a _bad_ idea and he closes them again quickly. This feels like the aftermath of the bout of flu he had one wet winter in Ohio. They’d run out of money to cover an apartment; he and Sam had spent the best part of a week living in the backseat of the car. School had been the only place they’d been even marginally warm and Dean still remembers all the “extra credit” projects they did to find excuses to stay until the school library shut.

This time, though, when he tries a second time and gets his eyes to stay open, Cas is leaning over him -- at least, he hopes the blur is Cas -- not the skeletal school librarian -- Mister...Something-or-Other. Dean isn’t sure he’d known his name at the time. He’d been nice, though, letting the boys stay until he left the building, rather than when they were supposed to go which was almost two hours earlier.

‘He sounds like a good man,’ Cas says seriously and Dean realises he must have been talking aloud. That explains the sore throat at least.

‘Yeah...’ Dean groans and shifts until he can bear his weight on his hands. Every movement makes his stomach churn and he swallows hard. ‘A week, huh?’

Castiel nods. ‘Almost. I am...sorry, Dean.’

‘Jesus, what for? It’s not _your_ fault I’m a fuckin’ demon buffet.’ Dean takes a deep breath and heaves himself forward. The maneuver makes his head spin and he has to drop his forehead onto a raised knee. ‘So how’s Sam?’

Castiel’s hand tightens slightly on his shoulder and he feels the shift as the angel shrugs. ‘He recovered a little faster than you.’

‘Great.’ Dean opens one eye cautiously and the room is a smear of color. He closes it again hastily, feeling his stomach roll. ‘When do we go again?’

‘Dean--’

‘It’s just gonna make me feel like shit, right? So we might as well go for it now.’ Dean takes a deep breath, braces himself, and opens both eyes. For a minute, the room is a rolling mess he can make no sense of and his ears start to sing. Then he finds a dark smear with a lighter smear below and, staring hard at it, forces it to resolve into a blurry, warped version of Castiel. ‘Hey, Cas.’

‘Hello, Dean.’ The blur moves in what he guesses is a nod and Dean thinks he can probably guess what Castiel’s expression is. He lifts a hand, trying to give the impression of being more in control of his limbs than he feels he really is. He’d try a cheerful grin but he’s pretty sure he can’t pull it off.

‘Is Bobby okay?’

‘He is fine.’

‘Then we’re good to go, right? You said Sam was doin’ better than me--’

‘You are not well enough--’

‘C’mon, Cas, I’ve gone up against worse than demons feeling...worse than this.’ Dean hopes he sounds more convincing outside of his own head. He can really only remember one fight when the world wouldn’t stop swinging around him and it hadn’t ended well. He’d nearly shot Sam in the shoulder and Sam had shoved him out a window to prevent him doing any more damage.

‘You can barely keep your eyes open.’

‘I can!’ Dean blinks his eyelids wide and only just represses a groan as his stomach clenches. After a second, the worst of the hot waves of nausea pass and the world even begins to come into better focus. 

‘And those traps are breaking so--’ He tries to clap Castiel companionably on the shoulder but misses, getting his own shin instead and lurching heavily to his right. _Fuck._ ‘--lets get to it.’

‘Dean.’ Castiel sounds less worried, more amused. ‘The trap is strengthened. It will hold for another day while you rest.’

‘But--’

‘Bobby and Sam have gone ahead to assure it.’

Dean struggles upright, blinking as hard as he can to try and get Castiel’s image to stop doubling in front of his eyes. ‘So you sent _them_ into a meat grinder and put _me_ to bed? Jesus, Cas--’

Castiel’s hands are firm on his shoulders and, loath as he is to admit it, he’s grateful. There’s no way he’d stay upright otherwise. Castiel is a blur and his ears are ringing like the time he crept backstage at an Aerosmith soundcheck. ‘They are _fine._ This is a less powerful demon--’

‘I’ve heard _that_ one before--’

‘--and if you do not--’

‘--usually right before the shit hits the fan--’

‘--lie down and _rest---’_

‘--with a fuckin’ wet _thud_ and--’

‘--I will _sit on you!’_ Castiel almost shouts and Dean drops back against the pillows out of sheer shock.

He still can’t focus too well, but the grip on his arm is unmistakeable. ‘Cas?’

There’s a pause. Then: ‘Dean.’ Castiel’s voice has that sound of strained patience Dean finds too familiar.

He hesitates for a second, then asks, ‘Was it that bad?’

Castiel is silent for a minute and Dean feels cool fingertips brush over his cheek. 

‘Cas?’ Dean reaches up and fumbles for a second, then finds Castiel’s hand and winds their fingers together. He doesn’t know about the angel, but it makes him feel a bit better: like it’s easier to breathe with Castiel’s palm pressed against his.

‘It was...terrible.’ Castiel says it in a matter-of-fact voice, as if he were telling Dean the price of the motel room. ‘I thought you might not come back.’

Dean feels Castiel’s fingers tighten around his hand and then quickly loosen, as if Castiel doesn’t want to give too much away. Well, fuck that. ‘Cas...c’mere...’ He scrabbles in air for a minute, then finds the angel’s other arm and pulls him forward. 

It’s a little awkward. Dean can’t open his eyes for more than a few seconds at a time without feeling like he’s about to fall through the floor. He has to try and guess where he is and where Cas is and where the bed is, but eventually he gets the smaller man against his side, Dean’s arms wrapped around his shoulders. 

‘I thought you might not come back,’ the angel mutters again, his lips moving against Dean’s shirt and Dean can feel something hot spreading against his shoulder, a dampness in the fabric.

‘But ‘m here, right? ‘m okay.’ 

‘Yes.’ Castiel pauses and takes a deep breath, then goes on, voice ragged: ‘But Sam is tired -- and so am I. I do not know...if you insist on doing this again, I...’

‘Sssh....’ It takes him longer than he’d like, but he curls himself around the angel, making himself a barrier between Castiel and whatever awfulness the last week has held. ‘’m here, Cas. ‘m okay.’

‘It is not...pleasant...seeing you do this.’ Castiel’s voice is small, nearly inaudible. ‘I do not like knowing that you...let them torment you again.’

‘They don’t --’ Now that would be an outright lie. ‘It’s -- it’s not that bad.’ At least he can’t remember it this time. Not well, anyway.

‘Do not lie to me, Dean. I hear what you say -- I see what they make you do.’ 

Dean drops his forehead against Castiel’s hair, breathes in the faint scent of shampoo and sweat. ‘What d’you want me to say, Cas?’

‘I want you to say that you will not do it again.’

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Right Here," Staind, _The Singles 1996-2006_.


End file.
